Brother
by whiteandnerdyXD
Summary: The one who feared not death, but loneliness...
1. Chapter 1

Segment 1

*listen to "Bratja" from Fullmetal Alchemist while reading this, it's Okami's theme and really fits the mood. ;)*

**Daughter Okami, sister Okami, Okami Cheu, what a failed form of life. You stupid, weak, waste of space. All you do is sit around and feel sorry for yourself. Why is there space for you on this Earth? You should go and die. But then you'll waste space in Hell, won't you, you little bitch. You really don't know your place, so do I have to beat it into you, you little asshole? You're wasting oxygen. Go fall from a cliff, or something. Just get the hell outta my life. Why were you even born in the first place? You're such a problem, just another mouth to feed, body to clothe, face to slap. I wish you just disappeared.  
Then his boot would come down on my face and knock me down onto the cement floor. No tears, just blood rolled down my face. I understood. I understand. I am a good for nothing piece of garbage. A waste of resources. I wish I just disappeared. Maybe in Hell they would find a good place for me, maybe that was where I belonged. I knew I wouldn't find a place in Heaven, though. There's no place for Cheu's in heaven. We were all thieves, murderers, liars, cheaters, my family was a mess. A crazy mess of maddened hell.  
Me? I was around seven years old when my life changed. For the worse or for the better, I wasn't sure. But before that I did farm work during the day for my neighbors, and cowered in the corner during the nights. Hoping that my father wouldn't find me. I enjoyed doing work for my neighbors, they didn't treat me too kindly, but they were angels compared to my "family". They had a son my age who would watch me. He would laugh every time I came to work with a new bruise or scab. "The ol' man got to you, again?" he would chuckle. I just smiled at him and said "Yes." I laughed with him, not knowing what else to do. I hardly ever got attention from anyone. Or at least, any positive attention.**

My home was by a port, the ships often used to carry merchandise to other countries. The one time I was actually exposed to the ocean, was not a pleasant experience. I was attacked by a rather small shark, it bit into my calf and wouldn't let go. All I can remember from that scene was major blood loss, a sharp numbing pain in my knee, and a strong pull into the water. I was close to drowning, and the loss of blood was making me lose consciousness. Blood and salt water, a big mixture, I didn't think I would live. Good. I didn't want to. But of course, I was saved, by whom, I can't quite remember. I was young when it happened.

After that, a Hell in mind had formed. When I was in the water, I was alone. No one was there with me. My screams for help were not heard by anyone. I knew. I know. I'm always alone. All the time. When I think I'm not alone, my company is taken away from me and I have to face the sharks myself. In my mind, I was forever stranded on a small boat in the middle of the ocean, the vast body of water that never seemed to end. No one was there, I live in a soundless world. Sometimes I would talk to myself. just to hear the existence of humans. Who was there for me? No one. My parents hated me, I had no siblings, and the people in the outside world were not understanding enough for my liking. Was there something wrong with them, or me? No one cares about you, Okami, just face it already, you waste.

Many days I would walk down the dirt road, the cold wind blowing through from Russia, slithering up my sleeves and skirt. I went to school on my own everyday, I liked to learn. My parents didn't fill in an application for me or anything, it was entirely my own decision. I could almost see myself, a pure little girl, no one would have suspected that I was desperate for love. It was almost as if I was loveless. I feared my teachers, my parents, and any other adults around me. Anyone who was bigger than me, I feared. Anyone who had authority, I feared. Myself, I feared. This fear led to my isolation. I never allowed anyone near me. Hell would be the day when I found a friend and lost them. Or even worse, perhaps they would not understand. And they would try to fix me. They would try to remove this skill I obtained. This black magic, also known as insanity. Dammit, I was a little girl. A perfect little girl. But my mind lingered in the devil's place I had created for myself? Something was wrong with me. Or everyone else...

As I recall, no one at school noticed me. No kids laughed at me, no kids spoke to me. Looking back now, I would have liked it a lot better if they laughed at me. I hate silence, I hate loneliness, I hate it I hate it I hate it. Then why did I deprive myself of the right to keep friends? Well, maybe it wasn't me who pushed them away, but they who pushed me away. Not only did I act like the ghost of a child, I looked like one, too. My hair was a sickly pale blonde, my eyes a sickly pale blue, and my skin wrapped tightly around my bones, also, pale. I was no ordinary child, that's for sure.

I was quite a twisted little girl, no one would expect such self-hate from a seven year old. Even adults seemed to be aware that I was to be left alone. But did they not realize that all while they were busy being scared of the consequences of helping me, I was screaming for help? Was no one kind enough to reach out a hand and help me to my feet? Or maybe, I was right. My father was right. My mother was right. What's the purpose of saving garbage? It's only logical to get rid of garbage. But who said that garbage couldn't feel...

Sorry

Sorry I'm a child

Sorry I'm useless

Sorry I need attention

Sorry I fail

**Sorry **


	2. Chapter 2

Segment 2

**Nothing. Nothing can be heard. Out here, I am by myself. Whether the water is rough or calm, I will have to face it myself. If ever I fell into the depths of the ocean, it would be a silent death. The monstrous creatures of my mind will devour me as I sink down, down, down. I would have no one to scream to. I would cling to the side of the boat, but the tide keeps sucking me into my fate. All my life, all my soul, everything will be gone. No one will be there to experience my death, my terror. So all I can do is sit and hope, pray that I can keep my mind and soul alive. **

I was seven years old. I sat there in my little boat, with my back straight and my eyes straight ahead. What was I looking for? Why did I feel like I could not close my eyes and relax? It did not matter. I was afraid to do so, anyways. My muscles were tense, though, and they were aching. I looked into the pale waters of the vast, unknown. I could almost see another face looking at me. At first it seemed human to me, it looked like an elderly man, with a pig-like face. But I saw that he was not as humanly as I thought. He had sharp teeth around his pig-skull face, and his complexion of grotesque and sick white. Who was this? What was this?

His reddened eyes looked at me. What was this creature, looking at me in this crazed way? Out from the water, came a scaly hand. Gently, it lifted me out of my boat. Before I could protest, it clenched it's hand over my body, and pulled me into the very water I had feared. I closed my eyes, but did not scream. The same, silent death I had promised to myself. I felt the water closing in on me. It made it's way into my nostrils and into my lungs. I started coughing, but only more water seeped into my body. I asked myself, I don't fear death, then why am I holding my breath? That's when I blacked out.

I was awakened by the sound of a man's voice. It was scraggly and harsh, as if he hadn't talked much in the past. "Okami Cheu.." it was saying, over and over again.

"This must be hell" I thought "This must be my end."

The strange man, no creature, was looking down on me. I looked back into the red eyes of this.. thing and stood up. "Okami Cheu. You are in the realm of the Shinigami. The gods of death. I am about to give you a gift that will change the way you look at things." A... a Shinigami?

The Shinigami handed me a notebook of black binding and coverage. On it were the words "Death Note". "This is free of charge. You may use it however you like, my girl. Write a name down, and they die."

As soon as he said that, the outlines of everything smudged.

Truly, I am going crazy. Truly, none of this is happening. Has my soul really reached such insanity, though?

Everything I could see began to spin around and around. My head felt light and weightless, almost as if it had been removed, altogether. I held my hands to ears, because it felt like my brain was about to spill out. As I was spinning down and down, I was slowly melting... was I hallucinating or what? What was happening to me?

Sharply, I opened my eyes. Just a dream...? I was holding something in my arms. A book of some sort, with leathery covering. I dared myself to take a closer look at it. "Death Note" was written on the cover. I bit the insides of my cheeks. "I'm still dreaming, I'm still dreaming. I'm still dreaming." Suddenly, a scream escaped my mouth, and I leapt from the straw mattress on the floor. I felt around the cement floor for the old pocket knife I would carry around everywhere. I clenched it in my hand, not knowing why or how...

I'm still dreaming

I'm still dreaming

I opened the notebook and wrote: "Okami Cheu"

40 seconds passed. Nothing. No, I was not dead. I was alive? No I was dreaming. Suddenly, I smiled, deviously. I wrote that boy's name. The neighbor's boy. The only person who would talk to me. 40 seconds later, a scream. Yes. It works. Then, I thought. What did I just do? The knife clenched in my hand, I screamed again, and the yell pierced through the darkness. Terrified, I jerked the knife into my chest.

When, oh, when can I just finally die?

I watched the blood flow down my side. But nothing... no sign of faintness. No loss of conscious. Did this mean that I was... immortal?

No... no... the thought made me cry. That would mean I was never to die. That would mean that I was cursed with this hell on earth forever. What...?

I'm still dreaming

I'm still dreaming

I heard heavy footsteps stomp into the room I had slept in. "What's wrong with you, you dirty bitch? Can't you tell that we're all trying to sleep?" With that, a slap in the face. "And now look what you've done, you trash! You got blood all over the clean floor! Whatta waste, ye are. Whatta waste! Just..." he shoved me out the door "Get outta here! Go on," I ran towards the port "Get outta here!" I ran and ran and ran.

I'm still dreaming

I'm still dreaming

**I think... I'm doomed.**


	3. Chapter 3

Segment 3

**Run, run, run, Okami, run from fear. Run until you can't run anymore. Run away and never return. I know, I told myself, I know. But my side hurt. Where I had stabbed my chest. The hot blood sizzled and cooled in the night air. Though I felt no shortage of breath. My mouth watered, and my feet could carry me no more. I was only able to cover so much ground. In my arms I held the leather bound book, and my bloodied knife. My tiny hand was covered with blood, and down my thin side the red leaked down, staining my shirt. My hair was a mess, the pale blonde wisps falling into my eyes as I ran on and on further then my lungs would ever let me.  
In the moonlight, I began to see the port. The same one that I had dreaded ever since the accident. The port that produced the hell inside my head. Even though my heart began pounding and I wanted to cry, I ran on to the port. The place where my "innocence", so to speak, was drowned as well as my pride. This place; I was scared of the loneliness that had struck me dead. Here, I died. But still, I ran. You know what, dear father and mother? I will do you good. I will do this whole town good. I will drown tonight. And if I don't die, I won't return anyways. I'll swim away until I find another place to rest. But preferably, I'll die. And when you find my floating body in the sea this coming dawn, you will all celebrate and rejoice. What an honor it is, to make you so happy. Maybe then you can learn to love me.**

The wooden crates around the port seemed inviting. I was tired. The ideas of disappearing that pondered in my head faded and I just wanted to lie down and sleep. Tears and sorrow can wait. I want to rest. I climbed into a crate that seemed to fit just my size, and closed it on top of me. I cradled the book in my arms and knife I hid in my nightgown. A smile shadowed across my face, as I closed my eyes and slanted my eyebrows. The shadowy smile subsided into a quiet sob. The silent, deep, dreadful sob, of the little girl who knew nothing but hate, fear, and worst of all, loneliness. I only produced one sob, no more, and that was it. The rest of my tears were silent. They streamed down my cheeks and warmed my frozen face. I curled up into a ball as small as I could make, allowing the calming tears to bring heat and fever to my icy body. What a small pleasure it was, to be able to cry. To be able to warm myself this way. Self-pity is wonderful.

I quickly fell asleep, and I slept for longer than I could've imagined. I never dreamed, and I still don't. I don't dream. I only travel. I travel to my soul whenever I fall asleep. Always the same place, my soul, a vast ocean in which I was alone, but never free. Being alone is not being free. Being alone is a curse. It's restrainment. What I wouldnt give to have another live through my fears with me. To march bravely, right into the depths of my madness, and to defeat it. But even a full-grown man would crush under the pressure of my hell. Physical strength didn't matter. Only those who could withstand madness were strong. And I was getting there...

While I was in my soul, I sat up straight in my boat. As usual, my eyes peeled only the surface of the water, for I was afraid to look under. The white sky reflected perfectly off the water. I vaguely wondered, why was everything in this hell sickly pale and white? Wasn't hell supposed to be fiery and black? But then again, everyone had different fears and different ideas of torture. If they felt any torture at all. I knew that I had to be happy for people who didn't have to go through what I did, but sometimes they just seemed so obnoxious and so oblivious, that I couldn't take it.

Throughout my trip, my stomach churned and I was always on the verge of tears. My face was cold, the tip of my nose, numb. I rubbed my hands together, trying to keep the blood circulating. Again. Why did I try to save myself? Why couldn't I just die? Well. Maybe it was because if I died in this place, only my heart and soul would die. My physical body would continue to suffer and after the death of my soul, suffer even more. For I would have to continue on without any hope whatsoever of finding love in anyone or anything. I am loveless. I share love with no one, not even myself. My life is completely hate filled.

I was pulled out of my trip as the crate I lay in jerked. Through the cracks in the panels, light streamed in. It was morning. I had no clue where I was, and why my crate kept sliding across the ground. It kind of felt like I was riding on the waves of the little boat in my soul. Outside the crate, I heard voices. Mens' voices that I could not recognize. The air around me was still chilly, but not with the bitter iciness of the night before. It was kind of refreshing, as most morning air was. The men around me spoke Russian, the language I was used to hearing, so I knew nothing so strange had happened. I was probably still at the port.

The crate jerked again, but this time with such ferocity, that my head slammed against the side, and I blacked out. I can't remember, nor do I think I ever knew, how long I had been out for. But it was long enough for the crate to somehow go all the way to a port in England.

When I awoke, I wasn't in the crate anymore. The warm cloth of a man's suit gave me comfort, and he smelled of strong cologne. I still clutched the book tightly in my arms, as if letting it go would be like tearing off a part of my own body. I looked up to the face of a tired middle aged man, with wrinkles around his eyes and mouth, where he smiled. His hazel eyes were jovial beneath the wrinkles, and he looked down at me with the kindest look I had ever seen. Now let me remember, before that, had I ever even seen a smile? Not that I can recall. And if I had, it was probably the teasing face of the boy that had been my neighbor.

**The man said something to me in a language I did not understand. He said "Look who's awake!" I then realized that he wasn't talking to me, but to the little boy beside him. He looked about my age, with large black eyes, just as tired as mine. His black hair stuck up all over the place, and his face showed no emotion. I knew the boy shared one thing with me, and that was the power in think in the power of the mad. He held the hand of the man, and looked at me as if I was a dead animal. He knew I was different, too. **


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

**Did this really happen? Am I really here? Or am I actually dreaming? What is this? I closed my eyes, once again, in the strange man's arms. I felt my tiny fist enclose on the collar of his suit jacket, tightly. I did not open my eyes. Was this man really human? He was around the same age as my father, but he was warm and soft. Not cold and hard. And I couldn't remember the last time my father had handled me with care. Or my mother. This man's hands were soft and they stroke my hair without the threat of pulling it. As my father would stroke my hair, then lift me off my feet by it. **

Each time the man's hand went up to my head, I winced. Don't pull it, don't pull it... I would think. I was a dead animal. Disgusting, but pitied, I was a dead animal. It was sad that I was dead, but not as if a human had been lost. In the man's arms, I felt my muscles relax. All the tensions that I thought were permanent somehow dialed down. I relaxed beyond what I thought I was capable of. All the tiny muscles separated and my body felt limp. I unclenched my jaw, that I didn't even know was clenched in the first place, and I let my face fall.

I opened my eyes as I felt the man handing me over to another warm person. A woman in worker's clothes, whose face was pudgy with kindness. She reminded me of Santa Claus, the mere illusion of happiness in my mind, by the months of Christmas. We would learn about Christmas at school, and we would celebrate the new year. I never really felt the spirit of Christmas. I didn't really believe that Jesus was a profit, either. To me, the idea of God speaking to man was just... not believable. If God was the creator of our subconscious, also meaning our dreams and nightmares, and that was just a were example of what God was, Him revealing Himself to man would be most unbearable. All people's dreams and nightmares are rather strange, in their own sense. Imagining what all people's dreams combined would be painful to the soul. Especially if there are more people like me out there.

The man and the woman exchanged words in this language I did not understand. And the boy continued to watch me with his large, black eyes. I didn't know what he thought of me, or how he thought of me, but he seemed to acknowledge the fact that I was alive in a way that almost made me feel uncomfortable and violated. But then again, I wasn't very used to getting attention, in all, so any attention from someone my age was something to feel strange about for me. We continued to stare at eachother as the woman carried me away, patting my back and chirping kind words that I did not know the meaning of. But at least her tone was comforting. The man and the boy walked away, and with the last glance at the dark-eyed male, he smiled very slightly. The same shadowy smile that I often practiced when I was alone.

The woman continued carrying me away, speaking and speaking. She walked into a very sanitary bathroom, unlike the ones I was used to. She continued to babble, and I just looked at her. She couldn't have been older than forty, but she was very puffy. Her cheeks took up most of the space on her face, and not a bone could be seen. Her face was pink in color, and her fleshy hands were soft. The tone of voice she used with me was friendly, and I never could have guessed that women could be that way. I had grown up seeing my mother, along with the rest the women in my neighborhood all drunk and cold, starving themselves for fashion, and speaking and laughing in cold, deep voices, their breaths smelling like cigarettes.

But as the woman washed my face with a damp towel, I was suddenly choked up. What if I WAS dreaming? What if I woke up the next day and saw my father, looking down on me and yelling? I raised my hand to wipe an oncoming tear from the bottom of my eye. The lady smiled at me, seeing it, and asked me something. I did not understand her, so I continued to look at her. I must have looked pretty pathetic, for this lady wrapped me in a hug and I saw her begin to cry as well. She said something again, and then called for someone.

Another woman had appeared in the doorway. She was younger, and a lot thinner. In a way, she resembled my mother. But her face was different. Her face was old and broken. Her eyes were like mine. A shadowy smile on her face. Her dirty blonde hair was pulled back in a braid, and she was towering in height. The two women spoke in their language for a little bit, then the younger one left. I watched her walk out, and I noticed that there was something familiar about her. I felt like I had seen her before.

**The older woman continued washing me and she gave me some clothes to change into. They seemed to be a uniform of some sort, a navy collared shirt and a gray skirt that reached my knees. The stockings had a logo sewn on, it was something written in the language they spoke. I couldn't read it. The woman took me by the hand and lead me through the building. She took me to an office, and in the desk sat the other woman.**


End file.
